


Bonds of Blood and Battle

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts 2: Because the old one is quite full [7]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Minor Character Death, Ostagar (Dragon Age), Protective Siblings, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: based on a prompt from r/dragonagePrompt 5: A time when Your Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor is overwhelmed by their duties and wants to quit.Ava and Carver Hawke had joined a mercenary band to earn money to send home to their family. Carver's first job away from home sees the Black Eagle mercenary band joining the king's forces at Ostagar. This is a look at what Hawke and Carver were doing before the start of the story of Dragon Age 2.
Relationships: Carver Hawke & Female Hawke
Series: Reddit Prompts 2: Because the old one is quite full [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918846





	Bonds of Blood and Battle

Southern Ferelden, 9:30

“What’re you gonna do when you’re all done with this nonsense?” he asked, gesturing with his head toward the army camp that surrounded them. “Find some nice farmer? Pop out a couple a’ kids?”

Ava made a sour face that was only partly the fault of the sour drink in her mug. _Fucking prig,_ she thought with more than a bit of venom. She favored the second-in-command, Varlon, the aforementioned prig, with her best glare. Most days in the Black Eagle mercenary band were at least tolerable, but the days when the big boss was absent due to some pressing errand tended to be the worst ones. Commander Faust ran a tight ship, while Varlon was less… professional. Varlon had a way around women, and certain men, that made the hairs on the back of a person’s neck stand on end.

“Woah there, Hawke. Shoot looks like that at innocent guys and they’ll think you’re a witch casting a curse their way. You already look like one, no need to further hinder your chances,” Varlon smirked, that damned hungry glint still in his eyes.

“Hm. Perhaps I’ll seek out the Witches of the Wilds. I bet at least one of them is giving lessons,” she said in a flat tone. Retaliating usually ended in docked pay at best and being booted out at worst. With mother and Bethany back home in Lothering, she needed to stay with the Black Eagles for a while longer.

“Is there a problem here?” a masculine voice with a deep Fereldan accent asked.

Ava looked to her left, then pulled the mug back up to her mouth to hide her smirk. Her ‘little’ brother Carver had appeared as if from thin air. He was wearing his customary leather jerkin with only a sleeveless cotton undershirt beneath it, freely displaying the muscles that years of practice with the great-sword strapped to his back had developed. He easily stood more than a hand’s breadth taller than Varlon. While her drink was still bitter and sour, being able to witness the second-in-command’s hungry eye-gleam vanish entirely and be rapidly be replaced by ill-concealed wariness was sweet. Carver folded his arms and favored their superior with the same glare his sister had earlier.

Once Varlon had turned tail and headed elsewhere, Carver grabbed a mug of his own and ladled some of the brew from a nearby barrel into it. He claimed an empty box next to Ava and sat. “Fucking prig, that one,” he said before taking a swig. His eyes went wide and watery when he nearly choked on it. “Maker’s ASS! Sister, why are you drinking this stuff? I think the water from a used mop bucket would be better tasting than this!”

Ava scrunched her nose and took another sip from her mug. “Trust me, this stuff is better than drinking from the nearby water. Here’s a tip: never drink from a body of water near a big camp. You’ll almost always get sick. Learned that one the hard way. Some people don’t bother digging latrines and just use the water for that sort of business.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Why are people so…” he flailed with his free arm, at a loss for words. He took another pull from the mug, forcing it down without gagging.

“Laziness would be my guess. Or they simply don’t give a shit,” she replied.

“Phrasing?”

She snorted, an honest smile finally curving her mouth.

“Why do you put up with him?” Carver asked. “That man’s a fox drooling outside the chicken coop.”

“We need the money for mother and Bethany, you know that. That and you need some work under your belt before we can find another company to hire on with. Maker willing, after this is all done, we can go home for a bit and be picky about who we work for next,” she answered.

“Only, this isn’t guarding some caravan against bandits,” he sighed and took in the hustle and bustle of the army camp around them. Warriors sparred in one spot, smiths repaired weapons and armor in another. Tents belonging to higher-ups dotted the distance with runners scurrying to and from them carrying messages.

“Nope, it’s not. That’s why the king’s paying companies like ours so well. This isn’t something anyone’s seen in ages,” she said. “They need every able-bodied fighter they can get.”

He shuddered. “Darkspawn. I thought they were just things in stories to scare kids.”

“They die when stuck with a weapon enough times, just like anything else. At least, that’s what I heard one of those Grey Wardens tell a group of army recruits earlier,” Ava said after draining the last of her mug.

\---

Several days later, Ostagar

Wave after wave of the monsters flowed into the battlefield, like a tsunami making landfall. She’d followed in the wake of one of the Grey Wardens, a dwarven woman whose daggers were moving in a blur, making short work of anything that got within reach of them. Ava tried not to pay attention to the scent of the black blood that coated her blade after she cleaved the head from the shoulders of one of the shorter monsters. It was nothing like the smell of ordinary blood, the stench made her stomach curdle.

 _Don’t stop. Stopping means you die,_ she thought to herself. A war cry from several yards away filled her with a brief wave of relief. A quick glance revealed Carver and Commander Faust stabbing their blades into one of the massive horned monsters that easily stood as tall as two and a half grown men, felling the beast. But that was just one in a sea of the darkspawn erupting from the wilds. Experience had taught her the tells to look for, both the men were starting to flag, just like she was. Her observation was interrupted by a screech. Muscle memory alone made her use her great-sword to parry the blow from yet another darkspawn; this one just as tall as she was as if it were a twisted mockery of a human being. After a series of parries and dodges, she managed to cleave the darkspawn down the middle. She tried to steel her nerves, but her stomach trembled at the stench of yet more darkspawn blood.

“Look!” one of the mercenaries pointed upward toward the Tower of Ishal. “The fire’s lit! The Teyrn’s men should be coming soon!”

A cry of relief rose up from Wardens’, mercs’, and the king’s soldiers’ throats alike.

“Keep at it! Hang in there! Reinforcements are coming, men!”

As the minutes passed with no discernible relief in sight, the wave of hope that had arisen earlier shattered. One by one, mercenary and soldier fell. The stink of desperation hung in the air, choking those who still lived. A horn called retreat. Ava whipped her head to the side to see the horn drop from Commander Faust’s hand as an arrow pierced his chest. A moment later, the sound of a body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch drew her attention. She watched in horror as the dwarven Warden’s eyes closed one last time, still wearing a sneer for the ogre that’d maimed her. She looked upward again, the burning signal atop Ishal mocking the men down below as they fought and died.

 _No. NO!_ She cast her eye around the field and finally found who she sought. Carver was being dragged away from the fight by Varlon. The younger Hawke was screaming and yelling, anger and bloodlust still in his eyes. She raced toward the pair.

“Let me go! We need to kill them! We need to protect the king!” Carver howled as she caught up to them.

“You heard the horn, lad. We need to go! We need to save our own skins! The king is done for, see reason!” Varlon said, holding both of the taller man’s arms behind his back.

“Carver. Carver! CARVER!” Ava had to resort to yelling in his face to draw her brother’s attention. He blinked several times when he realized who she was.

“Varlon’s right.”

“No, we need to--”

“Carver. There’s nothing we can do for anyone here now. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be just as dead. What happens to mother and Bethany then?”

His face fell, mind and heart clearly not agreeing with each other.

“Listen to your sister, boy. Get out of here while you still can. There’s no winning this fight, there’s only survival,” the elder mercenary said.

Varlon released the younger man from his grip. Ava grabbed her brother’s hand and squeezed. His defeated blue eyes met her frantic silver ones.

“Fly as fast as you can, Hawkes,” the man said before fleeing himself.

The siblings began making their way toward the edge of the battle, dodging and killing to clear their path when necessary.

“Where are we going?” Carver asked after pulling his blade free of the umpteenth hurlock he’d slain that day.

She paused for a moment, wiping blood from her blade onto the grass. Everything in her body screamed to run and to keep running, destination be damned. _No. Panic gets you killed. Focus! What’s most important?_ “North. To Lothering. We need to get to Mother and Bethany. Maybe we can warn the others. Maybe they can evacuate in time,” she answered.

“But—”

“Unless you have any better ideas, less yapping and more running, brother.”

He sheathed his weapon and trotted to catch up to his sister.


End file.
